'Tace'curses inwardly as he hears the sounds of fast approaching footsteps. He immediately moves the glowing orbs back to the position they were just in, circumnavigating the hostelry if needed.
He scans the area in the distance that the sound came from and that should now be lit up.
Bonus Action: Move the dancing lights up to 60ft back to where the sounds came from Movement: Only if needed to be able to get line of sight to the sounds. Action: will decide once I know what he sees
As he looks around, Arren notices that this place is familiar. He can't quite place it, but he feels he's been here before. And yet, it is etirely wrong. The sky above is the color of ash, and everything around him — the mountains, the road, the patch of grass where he's camped — is darkened, dull, lifeless. Wherever he looks, he sees only gray and hears nothing but silence.
Where is everybody? He was supposed to be with others, wasn't he? The tents beside him are fit for more than one person, and there's also a carriage ... but no horses to pull it. How did he reach this place? Did he come here with someone? In that carriage? Where are they now, then?
The Half-Elf walks a few steps in no particular direction, trying to recognize the area. Surely he'll find someone if he keeps walking. He raises a hand to his mouth to call out, but when he opens it nothing comes out. His throat strains, the muscles tense with effort, yet the air stays still.
What ...? How…? What is this place?
He turns back toward the camp, and when his eyes fall on the carriage, he notices a shape lying on the ground, bound to one of the wheels. How hadn't he seen it before?
Arren runs toward it, but his body feels unbearably heavy. Each step weighs more than the last, and it seems he'll never reach the carriage, even though he hasn't walked far from it.
The figure seems to notice him and begins to move its lips. There is no sound at all, but the words form clearly in his mind:
“No Meyen belongs here. You, who were born in Dite but do not oppose them, have betrayed your brethren. May Aleshi take them — and you with them."
The figure keeps speaking, but Arren can't make out any of the words. When he finally reaches him and grabs his shoulders to demand where everyone has gone, the figure's expression twists into laughter. He laughs hard — but still, no sound. Suddenly, the figure's eyes shift past him, and a flicker of triumph glints in their emptiness.
Arren turns — and realizes they are no longer alone. From deep within the earth, shapes begin to crawl out, slow and deliberate. He tries to move, but his limbs refuse to obey. Looking down, he sees shadows coiling up his legs, rooting him in place.
He reaches for his sword, painfully slow. The figures draw closer, armed with short swords and daggers, and he recognizes their faces: the bandits, the ones he fought the night before. Or did he fight them alongside someone else? He can't remember clearly. No, he was alone then as well. Hasn't it always been that way?
They advance in silence. Arren grasps at his belt, but his sword isn't there. No sword, no shield. His hands are empty.
One by one, they raise their blades, and the Arren realizes he is lost.
Bryn doesn't need to move to see anything. Just moving the lights allows him to see the bandits, or rather, their silhouettes. Bryn sees two silhouettes on their way to him. As they've already passed the light, he can't see them clearly, but their figures block some of the light since they're between him and the lights, so Bryn can at least know where they are, approximately. Bryn thinks the two are about 90 feet away and are running in his direction. At the moment, he can't tell if they carry any weapons. All Bryn can tell is that there are two of them, that they are running towards him, and that they seem like some tall humanoid shapes.
It is still Bryn's turn, awaiting his action.
Arren realises that he's lost and has no means to defend himself. Nonetheless, when the nearest bandit is about to strike, he instinctively raises his arms to defend himself, closing his eyes briefly while dreading the coming blow. But it never comes.
Arren opens his eyes. The blade is still raised, but along with its wielder - their face distorted with hatred - it is frozen in place, like some odd marble statue. Perhaps Arren lowers his hands, slowly, and looks around. They're all frozen. The figures that rose from the earth. The one tied to the carriage. The shadowy tendrils on his legs. Even the ashen sky. As if time had stopped for all but himself, Arren alone can move his upper half while all else remains frozen, unmoving.
"Hmm, not quite to my taste. It's all a bit... grim, don't you think?" The voice, sounding strangely familiar, albeit belonging to someone Arren cannot at the moment recall, comes from behind Arren. But if Arren turns to look behind him, he'll see only more of the frozen figures. It is a woman's voice, honeyed and smoky, soft and pleasant. The voice then continues, still from behind him. Perhaps, just out of sight. Moving along as Arren turns, maybe, as Arren can't spot the speaker. "I mean, look at these. So... sharp!" Arren hears the sound of a rock cracking, once again behind him. He turns, finding the blade of the nearest frozen figure now broken, its pieces lying on the ground just below.
"Hmpf. Maybe not that sharp. You could probably deal with them if you had your trusted weapons, couldn't you? Well, that's rather unfortunate. It seems you don't have them right now. It would be a shame if, in this situation, the world were to start to MOVE!" The voice suddenly shouts, yet everything remains frozen. Arren can hear the voice giggling from behind him. "Were you expecting them to move? Hmm, maybe you weren't. Well, where was I? Oh, yes. Like I said, this is wayyyy too grim for me. Couldn't you make it more vivid? Add flowers or something. Remove some of these statues. Remove all of the statues. Sit on a flowerbed on a cosy afternoon. No, that's too colourful, don't you think? Too gleeful. Can't have that, we can't have that. After all, while we're chatting over here, they're fighting over there, aren't they? For their lives, for their freedom? For... What else was it? Come on, what does she struggle for?"
A few moments of silence pass while the voice awaits an answer, until it finally exclaims: "Oh right! I forgot that you made it so that you can't speak in this grim world. See? This is exactly what I was talking about. 'I'm Arren, a hard-boiled soldier. I am so tough; everything is so grim around me. It's all so sorrowful," the voice says in a clearly mocking tone. "Think of something nicer next time, can you? A nice, quiet, grass-covered hill on a warm late-summer evening when the sky is clear, but a chilly wind blows occasionally. What do you think?"
'Tace' curses inwardly as he hears the sounds of fast approaching footsteps. He immediately moves the glowing orbs back to the position they were just in, circumnavigating the hostelry if needed.
He scans the area in the distance that the sound came from and that should now be lit up.
Bonus Action: Move the dancing lights up to 60ft back to where the sounds came from
Movement: Only if needed to be able to get line of sight to the sounds.
Action: will decide once I know what he sees
As he looks around, Arren notices that this place is familiar. He can't quite place it, but he feels he's been here before. And yet, it is etirely wrong. The sky above is the color of ash, and everything around him — the mountains, the road, the patch of grass where he's camped — is darkened, dull, lifeless. Wherever he looks, he sees only gray and hears nothing but silence.
Where is everybody? He was supposed to be with others, wasn't he? The tents beside him are fit for more than one person, and there's also a carriage ... but no horses to pull it. How did he reach this place? Did he come here with someone? In that carriage? Where are they now, then?
The Half-Elf walks a few steps in no particular direction, trying to recognize the area. Surely he'll find someone if he keeps walking. He raises a hand to his mouth to call out, but when he opens it nothing comes out. His throat strains, the muscles tense with effort, yet the air stays still.
What ...? How…? What is this place?
He turns back toward the camp, and when his eyes fall on the carriage, he notices a shape lying on the ground, bound to one of the wheels. How hadn't he seen it before?
Arren runs toward it, but his body feels unbearably heavy. Each step weighs more than the last, and it seems he'll never reach the carriage, even though he hasn't walked far from it.
The figure seems to notice him and begins to move its lips. There is no sound at all, but the words form clearly in his mind:
“No Meyen belongs here. You, who were born in Dite but do not oppose them, have betrayed your brethren. May Aleshi take them — and you with them."
The figure keeps speaking, but Arren can't make out any of the words. When he finally reaches him and grabs his shoulders to demand where everyone has gone, the figure's expression twists into laughter. He laughs hard — but still, no sound. Suddenly, the figure's eyes shift past him, and a flicker of triumph glints in their emptiness.
Arren turns — and realizes they are no longer alone. From deep within the earth, shapes begin to crawl out, slow and deliberate. He tries to move, but his limbs refuse to obey. Looking down, he sees shadows coiling up his legs, rooting him in place.
He reaches for his sword, painfully slow. The figures draw closer, armed with short swords and daggers, and he recognizes their faces: the bandits, the ones he fought the night before. Or did he fight them alongside someone else? He can't remember clearly. No, he was alone then as well. Hasn't it always been that way?
They advance in silence. Arren grasps at his belt, but his sword isn't there. No sword, no shield. His hands are empty.
One by one, they raise their blades, and the Arren realizes he is lost.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Bryn doesn't need to move to see anything. Just moving the lights allows him to see the bandits, or rather, their silhouettes. Bryn sees two silhouettes on their way to him. As they've already passed the light, he can't see them clearly, but their figures block some of the light since they're between him and the lights, so Bryn can at least know where they are, approximately. Bryn thinks the two are about 90 feet away and are running in his direction. At the moment, he can't tell if they carry any weapons. All Bryn can tell is that there are two of them, that they are running towards him, and that they seem like some tall humanoid shapes.
It is still Bryn's turn, awaiting his action.
Arren realises that he's lost and has no means to defend himself. Nonetheless, when the nearest bandit is about to strike, he instinctively raises his arms to defend himself, closing his eyes briefly while dreading the coming blow. But it never comes.
Arren opens his eyes. The blade is still raised, but along with its wielder - their face distorted with hatred - it is frozen in place, like some odd marble statue. Perhaps Arren lowers his hands, slowly, and looks around. They're all frozen. The figures that rose from the earth. The one tied to the carriage. The shadowy tendrils on his legs. Even the ashen sky. As if time had stopped for all but himself, Arren alone can move his upper half while all else remains frozen, unmoving.
"Hmm, not quite to my taste. It's all a bit... grim, don't you think?" The voice, sounding strangely familiar, albeit belonging to someone Arren cannot at the moment recall, comes from behind Arren. But if Arren turns to look behind him, he'll see only more of the frozen figures. It is a woman's voice, honeyed and smoky, soft and pleasant. The voice then continues, still from behind him. Perhaps, just out of sight. Moving along as Arren turns, maybe, as Arren can't spot the speaker. "I mean, look at these. So... sharp!" Arren hears the sound of a rock cracking, once again behind him. He turns, finding the blade of the nearest frozen figure now broken, its pieces lying on the ground just below.
"Hmpf. Maybe not that sharp. You could probably deal with them if you had your trusted weapons, couldn't you? Well, that's rather unfortunate. It seems you don't have them right now. It would be a shame if, in this situation, the world were to start to MOVE!" The voice suddenly shouts, yet everything remains frozen. Arren can hear the voice giggling from behind him. "Were you expecting them to move? Hmm, maybe you weren't. Well, where was I? Oh, yes. Like I said, this is wayyyy too grim for me. Couldn't you make it more vivid? Add flowers or something. Remove some of these statues. Remove all of the statues. Sit on a flowerbed on a cosy afternoon. No, that's too colourful, don't you think? Too gleeful. Can't have that, we can't have that. After all, while we're chatting over here, they're fighting over there, aren't they? For their lives, for their freedom? For... What else was it? Come on, what does she struggle for?"
A few moments of silence pass while the voice awaits an answer, until it finally exclaims: "Oh right! I forgot that you made it so that you can't speak in this grim world. See? This is exactly what I was talking about. 'I'm Arren, a hard-boiled soldier. I am so tough; everything is so grim around me. It's all so sorrowful," the voice says in a clearly mocking tone. "Think of something nicer next time, can you? A nice, quiet, grass-covered hill on a warm late-summer evening when the sky is clear, but a chilly wind blows occasionally. What do you think?"
Varielky